


The Lover's Dictionary (The Charles and Erik Edition)

by pallorsomnium



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Light Angst, M/M, Mutant Powers, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallorsomnium/pseuds/pallorsomnium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is true love - you think this happens every day?</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A love story about Charles and Erik, inspired by the book <i>The Lover's Dictionary</i> by David Levithan. </p><p>There is a total of 26 chapters, but each one is fairly self-contained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A

**Author's Note:**

> This story has nothing to do with _The Princess Bride_ (as of yet). I just liked the quote.
> 
> Much thanks to [redacted] for beta work! Any mistakes are mine.

**Alfresco** , _adv_.

Their first date doesn’t go as Erik plans.

Charles lets him choose the location--provided the date is on a Sunday, preferably noon--and Erik decides to take him to the nice café just outside of the city, with tables set out in a quaint little courtyard. The weather is perfect for the occasion, not a cloud in sight (and just nippy enough for Erik to wear his best turtleneck).

The café is owned by an old Polish couple, and Erik has been there enough times for them to know him by name. Of course, he has always gone there alone, so when he shows up with Charles, old Karina nearly falls over herself to get them seated and settled with menus. Through all this, Charles sends him amused glances, but only remarks on what an “absolutely _charming_ ” place it is.

As always, the food tastes exceptional (and Erik has to resist doing something embarrassing and drastic when Charles takes his first bite and actually _moans obscenely_ ).

Erik isn’t much of a conversationalist, but it isn’t hard to figure out that Charles loves talking and doesn’t mind talking Erik’s share as well. Erik gets away with answering whatever prompting Charles gives him, and the rest of the time he gets to sit and listen, lose himself in how Charles moves his hands as he talks, how his eyes focus on Erik and only Erik, how his smile is the most brilliant Erik has ever seen.

And then, out of nowhere, clouds sweep in and within seconds, the sky opens up, drenching them in pouring rain.

Rightfully so, Erik _fumes_ , struggling to keep his ire contained as they hurry out of the courtyard and under the awning of the cafe’s entrance. He glares at the downpour as he and Charles catch their breaths.

“Goodness, the forecast certainly didn’t say it would rain today,” Charles says.

Erik turns to him with the urge to apologize (granted, in a roundabout way) -- for the rain, for the ruined date, for the way Charles now has to lean against his cane -- but Charles holds a finger to Erik’s lips and smiles as brightly as ever. And all words fly out of Erik’s head, because a drenched Charles, while looking partly like a drowned ( _adorable_ ) rat, also looks just as attractive as when he’s dry.

“It’s been wonderful so far, Erik,” Charles tells him. “A little rain won’t ruin it.” Then he leans forward on his toes and kisses Erik’s cheek.

“I--” Erik flounders, but Charles, it seems, takes pity on him and slips his hand into Erik’s.

“Let’s go inside and dry off a bit, shall we?”

And Erik can only nod, reveling in the feel of Charles’ hand in his own, and lets Charles lead him into the café. Perhaps the day isn’t completely ruined after all.

 

* * *

 

**Aloof** , _adj_.

Charles knows that Erik doesn’t act the same way he does with Charles as he does with others.

Erik doesn’t talk much in front of others—not unless someone speaks to him directly and expects an answer—and only talks if he truly wants to. People have called him uncaring for it, but Charles knows it is because Erik hates empty words. Everything Erik says is meant to be said, so Charles always makes an effort to listen, to hear not only what Erik says, but also what he doesn’t say.

Erik doesn’t like crowds and always finds a way to clear out a corner -- be it with stony silence, a sharp look, or a few growled words -- to stand in all alone (until Charles joins him, at least). Charles knows he greatly prefers any place where he could be alone with Charles without anyone they know around, be it a restaurant, a theatre, or their own living room. (Charles prefers it too, in all honesty, since it’s then that he gets to see the softer, warmer side of Erik.)

But when Erik actually agrees to go with Charles to the police department’s Christmas party, to say Charles is looking forward to the night is an understatement.

 

Their arrival at the party goes much as Charles has expected. While Erik has turned up at the police department a few times to meet up with Charles for lunch or take him home after work, Erik doesn’t stay for long. So many have heard of Charles’ boyfriend, but not many have seen him.

Most of his co-workers who notice their arrival stare openly for a moment, surprise and disbelief on their minds. Intellectually, Charles understands; they know that his boyfriend is a mutant, and Erik is tall, lean, and imposing in his dark winter clothing that decidedly does not fit with the Christmas spirit. Personally though, Charles thinks that Erik cuts a very nice figure in his clingy knitted jumper and tailored trousers.

Moira, lovely as always, pays no attention to the stares and walks right up to Charles and Erik, greeting Charles first with a hug before turning to Erik. She holds out a hand for him to shake.

“Mr. Lehnsherr, good to see you again,” she says, and Charles smiles gratefully at her, because he knows she has doubts about Erik and Erik’s past.

“Detective MacTaggert, likewise,” Erik replies, shaking her hand.

“Please, call me Moira. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around more in the future.”

“Then call me Erik.”

Charles sends Erik his thanks, because he knows Erik wouldn’t normally let a stranger be so familiar, but that Erik was making an exception for Charles. Erik tightens the arm he has around Charles’ waist in acknowledgement.

“I best go make the rounds, see who is around. You wouldn’t like to come along, would you, darling?” he asks, already knowing Erik’s answer. Erik frowns and shakes his head. “Then I’ll go with Moira for a bit and find you later.” Erik nods, and Charles gives him a kiss on the cheek before they part, Charles with Moira to mingle in the crowd and Erik to find a corner to vacate and stand in.

 

Luckily enough, Charles finds Erik right away less than an hour later. He’s sure he’s looking quite harried, because Erik takes one look at him and frowns. Or it could also be because one of men from down in the forensics is following Charles rather incessantly and carrying on a one-sided conversation. Roland is a good scientist and a nice enough fellow, just a tad over-friendly and interested in a way that made Charles slightly uncomfortable. (Charles suspects it’s because he’s a mutant and a telepath, but has been reluctant to read—or even touch—the man’s mind to be certain.)

Charles sends a thought to Erik as he reaches him: _Erik, would you be a dear and…?_

_He’s bothering you?_ Erik growls, but doesn’t wait for a reply, pulling Charles to his side. Erik straightens into his full height and glares daggers at Roland. Erik’s mind has turned all sharp and prickly, and Charles feels like he need to tell Erik that Roland isn’t so much a danger to him than he is a nuisance. Some of Erik’s murderous thoughts must have gotten through, however, because Roland pales and bids them a quick goodbye before disappearing into the crowd.  

Charles sighs in relief and says, “Thank you, darling.”

“Does that happen every time you’re at a party here? How did you manage before now?” Erik asks as he continues holding Charles close.

“Ah well. You know how I prefer not using my powers on co-workers, so Moira usually comes to my rescue or I slip out early,” he admits. “Hopefully though, he’s gotten the message this time.”

Erik sighs, though his fondness melts into Charles’ mind like a warm cloud. “Then I suppose that means I’ll have to come with you to these parties more often.”

“Thank you. I don’t actually need a bodyguard, Erik,” Charles remarks, sensing the thought from Erik. “I could love the company though.” He smiles brightly.

“Of course you don’t,” Erik replies dryly, thinking pointedly of how he’d handled the situation with Roland. Charles pouts at him, and Erik huffs and bends down to press a kiss to Charles’ temple. “Ready to leave, _Schatz_?”

“Oh yes, that’s fine with me,” Charles says, and Erik immediately heads for coat check and the door, pulling Charles along.

Charles hides his amusement as well as he could (he tends to ‘leak’ into Erik’s mind nowadays, embarrassingly enough), because it seems one hour of social interaction is the limit for Erik. Charles didn’t mind at all; he gets to have Erik to himself, after all.


	2. B

**Balk** , _v_.

Much to Erik’s surprise, he is the one to bring up the Next Step. It’s a weekday and one of the morning-afters when he or Charles has stayed the night even though they really shouldn’t have, with work to consider. (Actually, he’s noticed this kind of day has been happening more frequently.)

This time, it’s Charles who has inadvisably stayed over. Erik, being up and awake for at least an hour already, watches from the bedroom door as Charles scrambles around the room, pulling on last night’s clothes and tossing his things back into his bag.

“It’s all so inconvenient,” Charles is saying, almost to himself. “I wish we didn’t always have to make the mad dash home in time for work.”

“Then move in with me,” Erik finds himself saying without thinking about it.

Charles pauses, almost stumbling over his own feet.

“Are--do you mean that seriously?” he asks.

Erik considers the idea. It’s been over a year since they started dating, and although he hadn’t considered being the one to bring up cohabitation, it’s certainly been something he has been thinking about, though tentatively. After all, he doesn’t see their relationship going in any other direction; he wants Charles at his side and doesn’t want to ever leave him.

So Erik nods and says again, “Move in with me.”

“I--” Charles looks at him with wide eyes, and the startled, deer-in-headlights look is not what Erik has been expecting. “I’ll think about it.”

He leaves soon after, giving Erik a quick kiss in parting.

 

Erik waits a week before bringing up the issue again, but Charles distracts him with wandering hands and a dirty smile. The following attempt, a few days later ends similarly--as do the next few times.

It’s not hard to figure out that Charles is avoiding the issue, even as they continue to accidentally spend weeknights together. It’s again not what Erik had expected. If anything, Erik had expected to be the one with cold feet and Charles to be the one to suggest they live together. He isn’t sure what it means, since Charles has never seemed uncertain about what they have with each other.

Eventually, Erik manages to find a time to keep Charles from avoiding an answer. By now, of course, he knows how to get Charles to be truthful--not that Charles ever isn’t, he simply prevaricates sometimes.

 

“I’d hoped that you respected me enough to give me a straight answer by now, Charles,” he remarks almost casually. “If it’s an issue of waiting, I don’t mind. If it’s not, and it’s something more serious, then--”

“No!” Charles interrupts, taking hold of his hand. “It’s not—it’s not that I don’t want to be with you, Erik. It’s...” He breaks off, looks away, and bites his lower lip.

“What is it then?” Erik asks, squeezing his hand.

Charles huffs, as if bracing himself, and says, “I haven’t had the best relationships. Whenever it came to moving in with someone...well, I’ve been told I’m difficult to live with. It’s never ended well.”

“You’ve always said I was different,” Erik points out. “Don’t use your past relationships to predict where ours is going. You know I--” Erik pauses here, because he has hardly a doubt that he loves Charles--surprising, when love doesn’t come easy to him--and Charles surely knows that, but saying it aloud is nearly impossible, the words seeming so superficial and awkward in his head. “You know I care about you--more than anyone,” he settles on saying, trusting Charles to understand what he means.

“Caring for someone and wanting to be with them aren’t mutually inclusive,” Charles replies, and Erik _hates_ the smile on his face right now, because it could hardly be considered a smile, small and fragile.  “I know it’s not entirely the same case, since Raven and I are siblings, but even now, we can’t be under the same roof for more than a few days. And I...I don’t want what happened with the others to happen with you. I don’t want to lose you, Erik.”

Erik cups Charles’ face between his hands and makes him look him in the eye. He says:

“Charles, you know how I feel about trust and people; I’m hardly the best person to live with either. But-- _Vertrauensvorschuss_. If it means waking up every day with you by my side, I will take that leap of faith. Will you?”

“Oh Erik,” Charles sighs, closing his eyes briefly. He’s smiling when he opens them again, and this time, it’s a smile Erik is glad to see: wide and bright, with fondness in his eyes. “I want the same thing, of course I do. So yes, I will.”

And Erik can’t help breaking into a smile and pulling Charles into his arms.

Charles is still nervous; he can tell by the way Charles hugs him back so tightly. Erik can’t deny that he’s a little nervous as well, but the benefits outweigh the fears, and he would do everything he could to make Charles’ fears disappear.

 

(It takes a while. They have to learn each other’s habits, and sometimes there are sharp words exchanged. But eventually, Charles stops saying “your flat” and starts saying “home,” and the effort has been worth it when his first and last sight of the day is Charles’ face, peaceful in sleep. Charles, Erik has found, agrees wholeheartedly.)

 

* * *

 

**Beguile** , _v_.

Charles isn't a morning person. While he might be perfectly capable of being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after his cup (or pot, really) of morning tea, he much preferred lying in, cocooned in sleep-warm bedding until the guilt of wasting the day away finally pulls him out of bed. Fortunately for him, his slightly unorthodox occupation as a telepathic police consultant meant his work days start at ten--so he's free at wake up at nine, and not the ungodly hour of six Erik wakes up at every day.

There is one thing he enjoys most about weekday mornings though: waking up to the feather-light press of Erik’s lips to his temple and the brush of Erik’s ordered thoughts against his mind. He doesn’t always manage to stir himself enough to open his eyes, but it’s wonderful when he does.

Because he likes to watch Erik dress for the day: the subtle shift of Erik’s muscles as he reaches for his clothes; the graceful bending of his body as he pulls on his trousers; the shrug of his shoulders as he buttons up his shirt.

By that point, Erik would know he is watching, could feel the purr of Charles’ attraction rub the edges of his mind, and Erik makes a show of it, pointedly turning his back to him, slowing pulling his clothes on. Charles, of course, makes no objections, perfectly happy to lie in bed and enjoy the show.

And when the show was over, Erik would bend down, one hand finding Charles’ shoulder through the covers, and kiss his lips, soft and tender.

_Good morning, ahuvi_ , Charles hears, Erik’s mind all laced up in _love-you-you’re-perfect-be-safe_.

He falls asleep again just like he’d woken, to the press of Erik’s lips to his temple.


	3. C

**Candid** , _adj_.

Sunday afternoons are allotted work times for the both of them. Charles claims the couch, files and papers spread out before him on the coffee table and his laptop at his elbow. Erik settles into the armchair, content with just his tablet and stylus. They sit in relative silence, each bent over their own work.  

Sometimes though, after an hour or two, Erik will look up and get lost in staring at Charles’ face:  the ink smudge on the bridge of his nose that makes his skin look even paler; the faint copper tones in his mussed hair; the brush of his eyelashes against his cheek when he blinks; the downward turn of the corner of his red lips at an especially unpleasant report; the soft curve of his neck as he bends over his work; the blue of his eyes nearly translucent from sunlight spilling through the window.

Erik could spend hours looking at Charles as he works, not moving at all lest he breaks the entranced state he finds himself in. Sometimes though, like now, he slowly reaches for his phone and thumbs open the camera app, takes a photo of Charles to place as his new lock screen and to keep forever.

Unfortunately, there’s the sound of a camera shutter when he takes the photo, because he’s left the phone speaker on, and the comfortable silence they’ve been sitting in is broken. Erik winces inwardly at breaking Charles’ concentration as Charles blinks at him owlishly, looking too adorable for words.

“Erik? Did you just take a picture of me?”

“Yes,” Erik admits reluctantly, and then frowns. “Why? Am I not allowed to take pictures of my boyfriend?”

“No! Of course you can.” Charles flushed and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just—I hardly think I look very fetching right now.”

Erik doesn’t fight the soft smile that spreads on his face.

“You always look ‘fetching’, Charles,” he says. “You’re perfection.”

(Charles is then straddling Erik’s lap, the case files he’d been looking at littered across the coffee table and floor. He kisses Erik, soft and sweet, as his mind wraps around Erik like fleece blankets and sunlight.)

 

* * *

 

**Correspond** , _v_.

(The first time they spend the night apart after moving in together, Erik is visiting his parents in Dusseldorf, celebrating his father’s birthday. Like the sentimental packrat Erik teases him about being, Charles keeps every email and message Erik sends him during their separation.)

 

> from: Erik Lehnsherr e.m.lehnsherr@gmail.com  
>  to: "Charles Xavier" <cfxavier@gmail.com>  
>  date: Thurs, Nov 14, 2013 at 2:37 AM  
>  subject: you can stop worrying and go to bed now
> 
> _Liebling_ ,
> 
> I’ve safely landed in Dusseldorf and will soon be taking a taxi to my parents’. As such, you can now stop worrying and go to bed. I don’t want you falling asleep on your job; it’s dangerous enough as it is.
> 
> Missing you already,
> 
> Erik

 

> from: Erik Lehnsherr e.m.lehnsherr@gmail.com  
>  to: "Charles Xavier" <cfxavier@gmail.com>  
>  date: Thurs, Nov 14, 2013 at 2:46 PM  
>  subject: Re: you can stop worrying and go to bed now
> 
> It’s great to see my parents again, but I haven’t had a moment to myself since I arrived. Mama and Abba are fine, and the house hasn’t changed the slightest since I last visited. Mama is upset with me though. She had hoped you would have been coming along. She made me promise the next time I visit I would bring you along. (I hope you don’t mind.)
> 
> I’m sorry you had trouble sleeping. I’m also not looking forward to the empty bed I will be sleeping in tonight. I hope you aren’t running into any trouble at work.
> 
> Take care, _Liebling_.
> 
> Erik

 

_You have 1 new message. Received today at 1:28 AM._

_It’s Erik. I’m glad I didn’t wake you. I hope you hear this before heading to work.  Just wanted to call and say, “Good morning, Charles. I miss you.”_

_To play the message again, press 1. To return the call, press the hash key._

 

> from: Erik Lehnsherr e.m.lehnsherr@gmail.com  
>  to: "Charles Xavier" <cfxavier@gmail.com>  
>  date: Fri, Nov 15, 2013 at 2:54 PM  
>  subject: Re: you can stop worrying and go to bed now
> 
> Mama keeps asking about you, and I wish you were here right now. We've only been living together for five months, and already I can't sleep without you there beside me. Much as I enjoy being with Mama and Abba, I can't wait to see you again. I hope work isn't wearing you down. I wish I was around to help you de-stress at night.
> 
> Erik

 

> from: Erik Lehnsherr e.m.lehnsherr@gmail.com  
>  to: "Charles Xavier" <cfxavier@gmail.com>  
>  date: Fri, Nov 15, 2013 at 10:23 PM  
>  subject: Re: you can stop worrying and go to bed now
> 
> Moira is rightfully concerned about your dietary habits. I'm glad you at least have her around to make sure you eat properly while I'm away. And no, don't try and argue the fact. I know how you get. You'd forget to eat dinner at times if I wasn't around to remind you.
> 
> I've bought you a present. I won't tell you what it is; you'll have to see when I get home. Mama is also insisting on giving you something -- I don't know what. She hasn't given me something to pass along just yet. It's typical, she adores you before even meeting you. Then again, I hardly think there's anyone who wouldn't adore you.
> 
> I hope you're doing well. I miss you,
> 
> Erik

 

_You have 1 new message. Received today at 11:16 AM._

_I can't say I'm surprised to find you sleeping in again. I'm glad you're getting your rest though. I'll try reaching you again in an hour._

_To play the message again, press 1. To return the call, press the hash key._

 

> from: Erik Lehnsherr e.m.lehnsherr@gmail.com  
>  to: "Charles Xavier" < cfxavier@gmail.com>  
>  date: Sat, Nov 16, 2013 at 4:39 PM  
>  subject:Re: you can stop worrying and go to bed now
> 
> This is the last email until I see you again. Mama insists I go to bed early and won't hear another word of it. But I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Liebling. No need to wait for me at the airport. (We've discussed this. No arguing.) You'll probably still be asleep when I come back, which is fine with me. I wouldn't mind crawling back into bed with you. I probably wouldn't want to let you go for hours though.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Erik

 

_You have 1 new message. Received today at 8:32 AM._

_Charles? …seems like you’re still sleeping. I’ve just landed. I can’t wait to hold you, Schatz. I’ll be home soon._

_To play the message again, press 1. To return the call, press the hash key._

 

(Charles listens to the message later, after Erik crawls into their bed and curls around him as he still sleeps, after he wakes to tender kisses all over his face and down his neck and sunshine streaming over their tightly interlaced fingers.)


	4. D

**Detachment** , _n_.

Sharon Xavier died when Charles was fifteen, but his mother truly died when his father did, when Charles was only six. Charles doesn’t remember much of his father -- a deep, gentle voice; a large, warm hand on his head -- but he remembers even less of the woman his mother had been before she’d started drinking. He remembers only a hug, soft arms wrapped around him and holding him close, as a gentle voice sings him a lullaby, but the memory seems more like a dream most of the time, something he’d always longed for. After his father’s death, his mother had never touched him, had barely spoken to him. In fact, he wasn’t sure she’d even really seen him in those years leading up to her death.

(The love between mother and child is said to be the greatest. Charles had wanted to both laugh and cry the first time he heard the saying.)

When news had arrived of Sharon’s death, Charles hadn’t been surprised by the cause (alcohol poisoning) or her death itself. No, he’d been surprised that he’d felt -- nothing. His mother had died, but for all it mattered, Sharon might as well have been a stranger.

But he shouldn’t have felt like that. His mother had died, and he hadn’t felt a thing, not even guilt, though perhaps the slight mourning at the loss of life. The emptiness he felt would have driven him to a drink or two, except drinking had been the root of the problem in the first place.

So every year, on the fifteenth of December, he visits his mother’s grave, where it lies next to his father’s. He brings flowers, and after stopping before his father’s grave for a while, he stands in front of his mother’s tombstone, just looking down at the words carved into the stone with a conspicuous hollowness in the center of his chest.

_Sharon Evelyn Xavier (1959 – 1997). Resting with those she loved_ , the tombstone reads.

The epithet had been the most appropriate one he could think of at the time. He couldn’t have chosen the predictable “beloved wife and mother,” since how could he love a stranger? But his mother had loved his father, loved him so much she stopped living after his death. And so, now she rests, peaceful in death, with his father.

This year though, this year he doesn’t go alone. He takes Erik with him, because he remembers what Erik had asked of him half a year ago, when he’d shown Erik the mansion. Erik, the wonderful man that he is, doesn’t ask where they are going when he gets into the car with Charles, and just sits holding Charles’ free hand as Charles drives them upstate. He also doesn’t say anything when they enter the family cemetery, letting Charles hold his silence as he leads Erik down the line of tombstones.

Charles pauses to touch a hand to his father’s tombstone, running his fingers across the inscription as is his custom, and then walks on to his mother’s. He carefully sets the flowers he’s brought down before the tombstone, and then moves back a little and sits down on the ground. Erik follows without complaint, even though the ground is cold and the grass a little damp, and takes both of Charles’ hands into his. Charles can’t resist giving him a small smile, leaning forward to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“You asked me when I first brought you to the estate to explain why I don’t call this place home whenever I was ready,” Charles said softly. “Today’s the anniversary of my mother’s death, and I thought it would be an appropriate day to tell you.”

Erik squeezes his hands and projects to him reassurance. “All right then, go ahead. Take your time.”

So Charles does. He tells Erik about his father and his death, about his mother and her drinking; about growing up alone and ignored in a mansion too big, too cold, too dark; about finding Raven and how they raised each other; and about his mother’s death and the apathy he felt then and now for her passing.

And when he finishes, Erik reaches out and pulls him close. He doesn’t comment or express his sympathies; he just holds Charles tightly to his chest, wrapping Charles’ body and mind with warmth. It’s exactly what Charles needs that he hadn’t known he’d needed, and he melts against Erik, rests his head on Erik’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

(Eventually, they’ll get up and leave the cemetery. They’ll go up to the mansion and spend the night there, with Erik rubbing the warmth back into Charles’ fingers as they drink hot chocolate by the fire. But for now, Charles sits in Erik’s arms and breathes in the crisp winter air and the calming scent of Erik’s sandalwood cologne.)

 

* * *

 

**Drown** , _v_.

On their fifth date, Erik catches himself staring into Charles’ eyes for the hundredth or so time. They’re somehow bluer than he remembered first seeing, out here in the sunlight, and brighter with every unrestrained smile Charles sends his way.

He can’t even begin to describe Charles’ eyes; only that looking into their depths is like falling into the sky, falling in---

_Ah_ , Erik thinks as he listens to Charles talk and looks into his blue eyes yet again.

_Ah_ , he thinks again. _I’m in trouble._

 


	5. E

**Ebullient** , _adj_.

The first time Charles sees Erik unrestrained in delight is the _third_ time they get caught in the rain on as many dates. They’re walking through Central Park, just taking in the sights and enjoying each other’s company, when the sky opens up and rain pelts down at them.

Erik looks up at the sky with such an offended expression that Charles couldn’t help laughing. He finds himself in a rather playful mood despite the guerilla rain.

“It’s all right, darling, no harm done,” Charles assures him, though he has to push his wet bangs out of his eyes first. “Look, the pavilion is up ahead. Let’s see who gets there first, yeah?” He kisses Erik’s cheek, just because he could, and takes off running.

“Wha--Charles!” he hears Erik’s slightly strangled shout and laughs, but keeps running without looking back, already hearing Erik’s running footsteps over the rain and feeling Erik’s mind project a mixture of amusement and exasperation at him.

Charles reaches the pavilion first, stepping into much welcomed shelter from the rain even though he’s already soaked through. He knows that Erik had let him win, of course, considering the way his knee is making its displeasure known now that he’s stopped moving. But he barely has the time to think on the fact before Erik comes close to barreling into him, his arms wrapping around Charles’ waist and pulling them close together.

He could feel the rumble of Erik’s chuckle through the way his chest presses against Charles’ back and has to repress a shudder when Erik speaks next to his ear: “Got you.”

Charles huffs a laugh and says, “I meant race you, not catch me.”

“Oh you did? My mistake then.”

His heart actually _skips a beat_ when Erik presses a kiss to his cheek, his barely stubbled skin brushing briefly against Charles’. Erik’s grip on his waist loosens enough for him to turn around in his arms. He gets to see one of Erik’s rare smiles, the ones Erik says people find alarming, wide and too toothy, and Charles is utterly _charmed_.

 

* * *

 

**Ethereal** , _adj_.

Erik first meets Charles when he comes trailing into Erik’s office behind two police detectives. If not for the police, Erik would have thought he'd stepped right out of the pages of a novel--or off of a movie set, with his unbelievably red lips and the bluest eyes Erik’s ever seen.

And really, who walks around in this neighborhood dressed in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit as if it’s a casual night out? Never mind that the man’s shoulders (surprisingly broad) fill the suit _very_ nicely.

“Good morning, Mr. Lehnsherr,” the female detective greets him. “I’m Detective MacTaggert. This is my partner, Detective Levine. And this is--”

“Charles Xavier,” the man interrupts, maneuvering himself around the detectives and face to face with Erik, and _Gott_ , he even had a British accent. “Mr. Lehnsherr, it’s _wonderful_ to meet you.”

Charles holds out his hand, and his grip when Erik shakes his hand is confident and warm. When they let go, Charles’ fingers brush meaningfully against Erik’s wrist. Erik raises an eyebrow.

How forward of him--not that Erik minds.

_Oh good, I had hoped not_ , a voice-- _Charles_ ’ voice, plummy and proper--slips into his head.

_You’re a telepath_ , Erik says, stating the obvious. He almost isn’t surprised that the man who ticked off all the physical qualities he likes is also a mutant. In fact, now that he is paying attention, he notices just how much _power_ Charles exudes, hidden beneath his charm. It thrills him the way nothing has ever before, and that thought, perhaps, is what makes Charles’ smile grow from warm to brilliant.

Then MacTaggert pointedly clears her throat and cuts in, “Dr. Xavier is working for the police as a consultant, and we’d like to ask you a few questions about your colleague, Connor Flint.”

He and Charles share a look--one that suggests something...promising--and Erik nods, subjecting himself to the inane list of questions the police have prepared for him and everyone else in the company who has worked with Flint.

When they leave, unfortunately taking Charles with them, he is rewarded with a phone number slipped into the front of his mind and a flirty smile farewell--both from Charles, of course. Erik accepts them gladly, returning a smile of his own.

(For the sake of his dignity, Erik makes himself wait until he leaves work for the day to finally make the call.)


	6. F

**Finances,** _adj_.

What Charles doesn't expect when he first starts dating Erik, is for Erik to insist on paying for _everything_ on their dates, and every time Charles tries to sneakily pay the bill, Erik has somehow managed to pay for it already. (One would think since _Charles_ is the telepath, he'd get the upper hand eventually, but this doesn't seem to be the case.)

Erik, in typical Erik manner, knows nothing and has heard nothing of the Xavier family and its wealth. It's an experience Charles has never had before. Most, if not all, of the people he's dated know very well that he is ridiculously wealthy, and those who didn't initially know quickly figured it out. (Dishearteningly, his wealth is what they all seem to miss most when the relationship ends, which probably says something about his taste in women and men.)

Understandably, for all Erik knows, Charles lives in a small studio flat and works as a detective consultant with a dismal wage and retention fee, all while somehow managing to run a non-profit hackerspace. The name Xavier means nothing to Erik beyond being Charles' surname.

However, as refreshing as the experience is, Charles' conscience simply can't stand for Erik to pay all of their checks, not when Charles could easily afford to spend as much as he likes whenever he likes.

He is unsure -- _afraid_ \-- of how Erik will react, though. Wealth seems to mean little to Erik, but Charles wonders if Erik would be angry at him for not bringing up the issue sooner, if he would think Charles has intentionally lied to him. He isn't sure if he'd be able to take it if Erik did.

But he really can't keep letting Erik pay for everything, so on an early Sunday afternoon, he invites Erik out to lunch -- nothing special, a small coffeeshop a short walk away from Grand Central. And once again, when it comes time to pay, Erik insists on doing so.

With a sigh, Charles lets him, but asks, "Are you free this afternoon?"

"Why? Do you have something in mind for us?"

"Come with me on a trip," Charles says, and refrains from saying more when Erik lifts an eyebrow.

"All right," Erik agrees, and Charles slips his hand into Erik's. They walk hand-in-hand to the train station.

Since Charles refuses to say where they're going, he gets away with buying the tickets: Grand Central to Purdy's. Again, Erik looks at him questioningly, but Charles smiles and shakes his head.

They spend most of the train ride in silence, though Charles enjoys the chance to rest his head against Erik's shoulder. Erik wraps an arm around him, giving Charles the excuse to snuggle even closer.

_Where on Earth are you taking me, Charles?_ Erik asks when they're nearly there.

_I want to show you something._

Erik looks out at the stretches of grass and trees they're passing and again quirks an eyebrow.

_If I didn't know you better, I'd be afraid you were taking me to the middle of nowhere for nefarious purposes_ , Erik teases, even as Charles senses the confusion Erik feels over his secrecy.

_Well then, I appreciate your trust in me._

 

At the station, they take a taxi, and, quiet area as it is, Charles coincidentally knows the driver -- has known the driver since he was a child, in fact, and unwilling to call for the chauffeur.

"Back for a visit, Charlie Boy?" the driver greets him with a smile, while also giving Erik a curious glance. Charles, after all, didn't bring people up to the estate that often.

"Hello, Tom, it's good to see you again. And yes, could you kindly take us to Graymalkin, please?"

Erik’s curiosity presses at the edge of Charles’ awareness, but Erik doesn’t speak, sitting back in silence as Tom drove them to the estate.

Charles asks for them to be dropped off in front of the gates, and after opening the gates with the access code, he starts down the long, winding driveway, Erik right behind him.

They don’t speak, and Charles clamps down on his telepathy, afraid of what Erik will think or say when the house comes into view. They stop by the steps leading from the driveway down to the gardens, and Charles keeps his eyes on the house. It’s been a few months since he last returned, but the house hasn’t changed at all from his earliest memory of it, too large and looming for a desperately lonely boy afraid of the cold.

“Welcome to the Xavier Estate,” he says, finally turning to look at Erik.

Erik surprises him again. There isn’t anger or disbelief in his eyes; he doesn't say or ask anything Charles is prepared for. Instead he reaches out and takes Charles’ hand, and then says, "All right, I won’t pay for everything, but one day, will you trust me enough to explain why the house you grew up in isn’t ‘home’?”

“I--” Charles can only gape at him for a moment. A laugh bubbles out of his throat, and there’s a familiar warmth in his chest that Erik is responsible for putting there. He can’t resist the urge to lean in and kiss Erik’s cheek.

“Yes, of course,” he agrees, and Erik smiles, a rare but wonderful sight for Charles.

“Well then, how about a tour?”

(One of the upsides of being excessively wealthy is the ridiculously large bed that once seemed to swallow Charles whole. Soon after giving Erik the tour, he finds the bed is the perfect size for the two of them.)

 

* * *

 

**Flaunt** , _n._

In the middle of August, a letter comes in the mail. It reads, "Spring Hills High School Class of 1997, 15 Year Reunion."

Erik groans, makes to tear it to bits and toss it in the trash, but Charles plucks it out of his hands with an interested hum.

" ‘15 Year Reunion'? They do it for the fifteenth year nowadays?" Charles remarks.

"My old high school does it for the 15th and 30th," Erik grumbles. "Just toss it in the trash."

He reaches out for it, but Charles sidesteps him with a tut, continuing to read through the letter.

"Charles," he growls.

Charles, naturally, ignores him and says, "But this sounds like fun, Erik."

Erik curses. "Fun? Do you _remember_ high school? I'd rather spend a day in prison than spend more time with those stupid little--"

"Be nice, darling. And that's because you can break yourself out," Charles interrupts.

"That's not the--"

Charles keeps talking: "Also, I didn't go to high school, remember? Private tutors. I was already graduating Harvard at 16."

"Then be thankful you didn't. I hated every single person there."

"And I am hardly surprised, what with your _charming_ personality." Charles folds the letter back up and sets it just out of Erik's reach.

“Fuck you,” Erik growls half-heartedly.

Charles grins dirtily and chirps, “Yes, I sure hope you will--or vice versa.” Erik scowls at him. “But seriously, Erik, it’s my understanding that a high school reunion is the perfect opportunity for you to show those you disliked how far you’ve surpassed them and their greatest expectations for you.” He pauses, looking at Erik as if waiting for his words to sink in, before saying, “Think about it. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me.”

Then he tramps off down the hallway to the bedroom as promised, taking the letter with him, and Erik is left stewing in the kitchen, refusing to chase after Charles just to retrieve it. But then he does start thinking, Charles' words tumbling around in his head. 

Charles worded it nice and proper (this _is_ Charles, after all), but Erik realises now that, simply put, the high school reunion is a chance for revenge, a chance for Erik to prove, for all their condescension and disdain, just how much better he was and still is compared to the rest of them. 

The letter also extends an invitation for him to bring a plus one, which means he can not only show how much better he himself is, but just how amazing _Charles_ is. For the two of them to be the center of envy, just imagining it makes Erik grin to himself.

_Oh, you silly man._ Amusement drifts into his head, because of course Charles would be listening in, waiting for him to reach this conclusion.

_I'm not being silly,_ Erik replies. _You're worth more than all of them put together._

Warmth wraps around his head, much like a telepathic hug, and Charles says, _Thank you, Darling. You're very sweet, but I'm afraid your opinion of me is quite biased._

_Doesn’t make it less true._

_If you say so, Love. I'll go ahead and RSVP for us, shall I?_

Erik grunts his begrudging consent, because revenge or not, social events are the bane of his existence.

_Oh, could you bring me my tea? I forgot it in the kitchen._

_Spoiled_ , Erik grumbles, but picks up Charles’ mug (the ridiculous blue and white cat printed one) and takes it to him.

(The reunion is as unbearable as he’d expected, but it’s worth it to see the gobsmacked look on everyone’s face when he walks in with an arm wrapped around Charles.)


End file.
